Setting Sol
by Ebonei
Summary: He may have gotten his revenge, but that didn't end the pain he felt- Jemima was still gone, and he'd never get her back except in the memories in which he kept. Oneshot. Character death.


**Author's Note; **In a rather long break from Subordinates on a Plane, my brain cried to write angst. Since Ralph _is _my favorite character, I decided to focus this story upon him and the possibility of him actually succeeding in killing Alyssa and Dennis. As a warning to my readers; while I was writing this, I noticed how pieces of this sounded like other Clock Tower fanfictions, and I'm going to say that this was completely un-intentional. I suppose that it is difficult to write a Ralph-based fanfiction without covering a few points that everyone else does in their own stories about him.

Please enjoy, and hopefully at some point I'll be able to get an update on SOAP. I really am working on it, I promise.

_And hush about whom the quote is by. I liked it. I used it._

**Setting Sol**

"Nobody can bring you peace but yourself." –Ralph Waldo Emerson

He should have been happy.

To his blade loosely clutched in his palm splay the blood of that damned girl and that wretched boy. Their final moments came to an end at his discretion, and those last screams of strangely unsatisfying horror should have fed him the necessary amount to assuage his hungered rage for revenge. Somewhere he felt as if that should have been enough for him, but when he overturned the actions of their deaths in his mind again and again, all he could truly tell himself was that even if given all the time in the world to kill them, it would have been impossible to sedate the forever going anger.

Except he hadn't been graced even to torture them for even five minutes at most; their end was required to come swiftly, and he didn't know whether he should curse the cause of that or embrace it. For he knew this to be soon—he'd be gone too, vanishing into the air in this final hour of void contempt. It didn't frighten him, though. Death was no stranger to him, and perhaps the two of them had even acquired some form of partnership during the years of his rather grotesque occupation. The fact that he'd never get a sweet revenge happened to be the only thing Ralph could find himself to regret.

His reasons for killing the two children; the boy simply _needed _to die. He was more of a nuisance than any actual value to his cause. Besides, Ralph had planned to kill him from the start, no matter which way the girl swayed in her choice to stay or flee. There had been simply too much risk to allow the wench to have any sort of ally in this most dire time, and the boy was only bait to keep her from running. Without remorse he easily slid his blade through that neck of the annoying child, but he was a small kill in the entire aspect of things.

The title of Ralph's true prey belonged to the girl.

"_Don't kill her_," the voice of his master advised in the back of his mind as he ensnared her against the wall. "_We still need her, for The Ritual._"

_Damn The Ritual._ Ralph scoffed back to that inner voice. _What meaning does The Ritual hold to me when I won't be alive long enough to savor it? What reason do I have now that Jemima is gone?_

That was it—the exact reason why the girl needed to die by his blade. She'd stolen Jemima away from him to that place where they'd never be together. His twin sister was that other half of himself, in more ways than just by blood. The fact they'd been resurrected by the same entity made it so only each of them had been given half of the effects. A single force split into two parts, giving the entity the advantage of attacks from two vantages rather than one. Together, they were formidable—a combined fighting team practiced to work in sync in order best their opponent. In fact, it was simply pure luck that he'd been able to kill her as he did; perhaps the shock of the demise of her friend was enough to occupy her brain from actually fending her attacker off.

Because when they were apart, they were easy to be overtaken by a rooder.

Another somber thought overtook him as he dragged his feet across the dungeon floor. He wondered as he walked to the area where Jemima had met her end, and knelt down as he reached it. The jester stared at the exact spot in which she'd been laying, sprawled and unmoving as the memory of him trying to cradle her in his arms came back to taunt him. The remembrance was almost entirely suffocating, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and deafening in his ears, and he couldn't block out the sound. All in that instant he wondered the singular thought—_why wouldn't you let me help you?_

He knew the answer already—he'd known because she told him why—but he didn't want to accept it.

"_I have to do this on my own, Ralph," Jemima suddenly turned to face him. Ralph froze to the spot, his eyes wide with incredulous shock. Normally he would have laughed. Jemima had a way of playing games in a sick, twisted sense of humor. It was the same kind of humor he possessed, so he understood it well, but this time there was something about the way she said it, in the way she stood and glared seriously at him, that his mouth went dry._

"_What?" he managed to choke out, his fingers absently curling around the handles of his weapons nervously. Despite her demeanor, she obviously found his reaction amusing, throwing on a half smile to mock him with._

"_You wouldn't understand," she offered, putting a hand to her hip and waving the other one dismissively. Even though she was holding her weapons too, his twin didn't find herself concerned with twirling them while she expressed herself, and though it didn't normally bother him, something about this made him feel insecure. He made a face at her, and she commented upon it, ". . . Don't give me that look. You really wouldn't."_

"_You haven't even tried to explain it to me. Jemima, you know we shouldn't work alone," he challenged back, trying to disguise his unease by straightening his stance, matching her air of authority. "So why are you putting such stupid ideas into your head?"_

"_Its _not _stupid!" she stomped her foot, which made him flinch. Her emotions were jumping so quickly that he wasn't prepared for that—and it was rare for them to be angry at each other in the first place. If one could choose any word to describe the twins, it certainly wouldn't have anything to do with quarreling, because it only happened so very little. Yet, to his dismay, this seemed to be turning into one of those few times._

_To emphasize her point, Jemima raised one of her blades up and put it against his face, touching at the top of the scar etched into his cheek. "Don't try to stop me, brother. You know what happened the last time you made that mistake."_

_She trailed the blade down the length of the scar._

_He licked his lips, pretending not to be bothered by the action, but truthfully he was rooted to the spot. She was right. The last time he tried to prevent her from doing anything, . . ._

Presently, he touched the left side of his face, tracing the scar with his index finger. While Jemima's various scars were from long battles and practices, his singular deformity was, . . .

"_Then please, I won't stop you if you just tell me why," he remarked back, continuing the mockery by bowing slightly to her, his tone colder. Jemima lowered her blade again; lip curled as she silently debated sharing with him the reason for her solo act. To add a final tease, he included, "I promise."_

_It worked; he could tell by the way the light in her eyes suddenly flickered unpleasantly, because she knew he'd won. His twin shrugged her shoulders and paced away from him a few steps. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak._

"_You don't know what it is like," she accused. "You don't know what it is like to train so very hard, every day, just like you, . . . and Burroughs only takes notice of _you _because I just can't seem to kill a damn thing. I have to do this alone because I have to prove that I'm not completely useless to him._"

With reluctance he kept his promise, and in the end, regretted that more than anything.

A wince in his side pulled him back from the memories, and a hand went to grasp at the irritation, gritting his teeth until the pain subsided. The arrows of a rooder—a quick death to some of the subordinates, and a slow death to the rest, and with him wasted all the weight of being alone in this moment. Which was completely blunt; he would suffer until the end. In the dark and cold air of the dungeon, a collection of voices seemed to whisper in his ears;

"Born to suffer. Made to suffer. Lives to suffer," they chanted quietly, and then giggled amongst themselves. "_Loves to suffer._"

He easily made the connection to where the voices were coming from—the entities without vessels, gathering around his decaying body, feeding their greedy mouths full of the hate he was feeling. They'd come to watch him die, because it was in their interest to be in the presence of someone in so much pain and _enjoy _it. Entities didn't give much of a damn to the other entities or the matching subordinate, because they were better off restoring themselves than actually harboring any sympathy.

Ralph truly believed that if the apparitions could, they'd be all over him, devouring and prodding him until he was gone. He almost wished that they _could, _just so this heavy misery could be removed, but his wish would go without resolve. Just as the entities whispered, his judgement was certainly cruel, and in a twisted sense, all of the pain existed because he loved it. Well aware of the consequences of killing, he still did, and merely decided to deal with the repercussions as they came. This sadness was only a piece of those repercussions he had been promised ever since the first time his weapon spilt innocent blood.

"_So, the rack, the cage, or simple quartering?"_

_Ralph laughed as he fixated a pinwheel upon the blade of their most recent contraption. Jemima, who was sharpening one of her scissor-blades close by, looked up at her brother with one brow raised._

"_Do I even want to know what you're getting at now?" she asked him, head tilted to one side as he stepped away from the altar. Ralph only smiled at her as he walked over, taking a seat upon a rock next to her._

"_I'm talking about how they're going to kill us," he nudged her, as if the subject should have been completely obvious. His sister still gave him the same quizzical expression, but she didn't seem at all disturbed. Instead, she just resumed catering to her weapon._

"_Who are they?" she asked after a moment. "And who said they were going to kill us?"_

"_Jemima," Ralph snorted. "I'm talking about the village. They aren't going to let us live after what we've done, and I just got myself to thinking about how they're going to do it when they finally catch us."_

_Jemima laughed. "Oh, I don't know. Something horrid. People these days can be so utterly _morbid_."_

_A smile graced both of their lips, well aware of all the tortures that could and would be preformed upon them. It was merely a matter of time until they received a taste of their cruelty back upon themselves, and resolved not to let it bother them—every reaction in turn received an equal back, and instead found the inevitable as a blessing. Live together, die together, and never grow old._

_But I am alone. _Ralph absently licked his lips. _Jemima's gone. She's gone._

The voices moved closer, tasting the sorrow, weaving around him and whispering in his ears. "Yes. You are alone."

They were trying to cause him to grieve, for the more his frustration consumed him, the more power they could draw from his ever-weakening body. Those parasites desperate to cling to his body and eat the remains of his soul crept as near as they dared, laughing, jeering, and turning him into nothing but the shell of a fool. A silent tear fell down his face, but not the kind of tear provoked by sadness—in this moment, he was happy. Not for himself, though, but for his sister.

She died almost instantly, without long suffering. The chances that the entities were able to do the same to her were incredibly small, and for that he found a single thought of joy. He didn't give much of a damn for himself anymore, not now that she was dead. _Kill me slowly, _he sighed, _if that is payment for ending her quickly._

They laughed again. "You're dying."

"I've known," he replied to the open air, grasping his side again as another twinge of pain struck it. "Is this news to you? I'm shocked, and I'd laugh along too if I only had the strength."

"We just like reminding you."

"Oh, hush. I don't require reminding," he sneered. "And if you don't mind, I'd prefer for the lot of you to shut up and allow me to die in silence."

"But you'll miss us," they continued. "That was always your greatest fear, wasn't it? Being alone?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Don't lie," the voices were directly nearby now, and if they were tangible he supposed they'd be swerving around his shoulders as they spoke. "You've always been positively terrified of being alone."

"_Shut up,_" he hissed back, and tried to stand. His legs gave out from underneath him, and he let out a shout of hate for it. So instead, he crawled in the exact spot where Jemima had been when she died, and stayed stationary, glaring at the darkness around him.

"Get angry at us, Scissorman," this time they did not speak in unison, and instead of all the entities that they were. Various voices of different tones and pitches surrounded him, and he finally became aware of how many had grouped around to watch him—his own entity was too weak to have been able to accurately predict it, but he never would have suspected for there to be so many. "You know that's exactly what we want."

He didn't respond.

"A shame we didn't get to your sister, though," speaking together again, Ralph's eyes widened as they mentioned his twin. Strangely enough, they snickered. "But she wasn't much of a loss—she wasn't worth a lot to begin with. Probably would have been a pathetic waste of our time."

"_Dammit! I told you to shut up!_" Nobody talked about his sister like that, and Ralph attempted to stand again. This time he was brought to his knees, gasping for the breath that suddenly left him, his mouth sucking at the air desperately. He moved himself slowly back to where he'd been seated before he fell, and the apparitions were laughing again. Always laughing.

"You're alone, Scissorman! All alone!"

_Ralph prodded Jemima hard in her side, impatient, and watched her stir in her slumber. She merely rolled over and pulled her blanket tighter around herself, and he rolled his eyes. He couldn't exactly blame her—today had been a rather busy one, handing out orders to those who went out to town to assist in their killing, not to mention tending to the various victims they already kept locked in the dungeon. Yet she did promise him that she'd wake up tonight for something special, and he wasn't about to leave her alone to ignore that promise. _

"_Jeh-mime-uh," he heavily pronounced the syllables in her name, giving her another forceful prod. She didn't move at all this time, and he frowned, until she suddenly flipped over to smack him in the face with her pillow. Taken aback, Ralph moved away from the cheerful, giggling girl as she put her pillow back in place on her bed. Without anger, he laughed along with her._

"_Okay, why are you waking me up at this hour, dear brother?" she asked, eventually calming down. _

"_Because you _promised_ that you'd come with me tonight!" he reminded, taking her by the hand and pulling her up to her feet. Still dazed by sleep, Jemima stumbled forward into him, and he had to brace himself to help keep the both of them from falling down. _

"_I thought you were joking!" she exclaimed, regaining her balance so he didn't have to hold her. "You didn't exactly elaborate on the subject."_

"_Perhaps I didn't want to spoil the surprise? Use your brain, silly," he remarked back, taking her once more by the hand. Giving a tug, he forced her to follow him, and the two swiftly darted from their bedrooms and into the dungeon. At once they begun to hear low, moaning pitches, and in the outlines cast by the faint candlelight both of them could see the bodies of a couple of miserable wretches strung upon the wall. They pointedly ignored them for now—those poor toys were of no enjoyment at the moment, as they only whimpered, too tired to scream. Instead, the twins ran straight past them and darted up the secret stairs that only they used to enter and exit the chamber._

_Ralph slid open the secret door in the kitchen—they kept it hidden within a cabinet, so that not even their master was aware of it. Since it was behind a few of the pots stored there, they had to push some of them around to be able to navigate to the other, normal door of the cabinet. It had been so much easier when they were little children, but they still made use of the route often, only having to close the secret door and put everything back into place as they left._

_They only used it at night, though, with good reason. The castle was normally asleep at this hour, so nobody regularly caught them aside from the occasional servant who knew better than to question them or how they traveled around. The consequence of figuring it out would be too great to risk._

_Jemima shifted the last pot back into position and shut the second door behind them, and got to her feet just as Ralph grabbed her hand again. Sticking to the shadows and silently making their way, they snuck past the various guards and servants who were making their nightly rounds. Up they traveled, taking staircase after staircase, even further up than Jemima thought possible as her brother suddenly took a turn to a door she'd never been in before. Without hesitation, he swung it open, and in an instant she knew where they were._

_Spiraling gears surrounded them, and the only explanation for it was that her twin had taken her _inside _the clock tower. She blinked at all of the rotating clockwork, and then turned to look at her brother who had stopped dragging her along, merely standing next to her with a smug grin plastered on his face._

"_Ralph, why?" he remembered her asking. He simply shrugged in response and took her by the hand once more, moving them closer towards the moving gears._

"_Come on," he told her when she hesitated slightly. Ralph giggled and gave a reassuring squeeze to her hand. "I've already done this. Just don't get your hair caught and stay close to me."_

_Once they had navigated around the first gear, she was fine—she even appeared to be having fun, like the innards of the clock tower was merely a children's playground and that she had nothing to be afraid of. Higher they climbed, around the spinning wheels and up the notches of the gears, and Ralph was glad to see her looking so pleased. Finally the pair reached another door, and he opened it to them, stepping out into the cool, night air._

_Spread above them was the stars._

_Jemima paused, and he glanced over to see the expression on her face. She seemed almost shocked at how close those glittering lights appeared from way up here, her mouth agape. Rolling his eyes, he tugged on the sleeve of her nightgown._

"_It gets better," he promised, motioning towards a nearby ladder._

_The two ran over to the ladder, unconcerned about how high up from the ground they actually were, and how any misstep could cause them to tumble off the ledge in which they stood. Jemima beat him to it, and gripped the ladder as she scrambled her way up it, scaling the entirety as fast as she possibly could. Ralph followed her, and when he reached the top, Jemima was already opening the next door they had come to. Within it were more of the gears, but they easily overcame the obstacle as they had done before, and clambered to the top of the entire clock tower. Jemima's excitement flashed in her eyes, staring up at the stars, memorized. Ralph cut in front of her and walked directly over to the edge of the tower, waving his hand at her as he sat down, letting legs dangling over. "Sit with me."_

_Without ever looking back down, she stepped beside him and joined him in sitting. "How did you know about getting up here?"_

_He shrugged again. "I don't know. I was bored. But I thought that, just maybe, you'd like it. Staring at the stars isn't as much fun when you're alone."_

_She nodded absently, raising one of her fingers up to point at the sky. With it she began to trace what he assumed to be shapes that she was making in the stars, and he grinned from ear to ear to see that she truly was enjoying herself up here. The truth was, he didn't really hold much of an interest for stargazing, but as long as Jemima was entertained and alongside him, he didn't mind sitting out here for her._

"_Thank you, Ralph. You don't know how much this means to me."_

Another tear for Jemima's sake.

He could barely move now; a terrible weakness had crashed over him, and he found himself painfully slumped forward. His vision was covered in a blurry fog, and he had to concentrate just to make sense out of the shapes around him. Yet despite this weakness, his own entity seemed to become incredibly flustered, making him incredibly nauseous. It was almost as if it were panicked; probably due to the fact its vessel would soon be gone and the fact that many entities were in such close proximity might cause it to feel threatened. The thing thrashed internally, not helping the pain in the slightest, and he rested his head upon the palm of his hand, still gasping for breath.

Somehow the air around him changed in demeanor. His own entity told him that.

The others suddenly switched their subject. "You killed the girl."

"That's also old news," Ralph uttered under his breath. "Are you all finished?"

"You killed the girl," they repeated, even more harshly. Obviously he'd been able to calm himself down, and in desperation for food, they decided to try and find another way to provoke him. He smirked at _their _frustration; he was glad it wasn't his own for once. "We needed her. To help our ranks swell and prosper."

"_Once we have your heart, the two of them will carry out The Ritual of Engagement, and a new entity will be born. Thanks to you, our ranks will swell and prosper."_

These beings had heard that? Damn them for using it against him now.

"Always the irrational Scissorman. Couldn't follow his orders," the entities continued. Ralph growled, gripping at his chest now. Sufficient air was in low supply, and darkness threatened to overtake him at any moment. The jester lifted his other hand to gaze at it, frowning as if he expected to vanish into nothing but useless paper, just as Jemima had.

"I-I, . . . d-don't care, . . . about The R-ritual anymore," he swallowed. "L-leave me be."

"No," they hissed back. "We won't let a traitor to us die in peace."

"F-frankly, I don't think, . . . the lot of you r-really have, . . . a choice as to w-whether I die, . . . peacefully or n-not," he answered, clenching that hand in which he'd been observing. They went deathly silent, and then laughed as a group again. The kind of laugh that made it seem like they didn't believe him.

"You're funny, Scissorman," they said. "You lost your peace when you lost your sister, and it'll take you over eight hundred years to find it again."

_A young boy ran down the streets of the market, his heart fluttering in his chest as he fled. He didn't understand why they were so angry—the people chasing after him, shouting curses and phrases likened to "stop, thief!" It wasn't like he could actually afford the apple, but he _needed _it now, more than anything he ever needed before. They should understand that, but they wouldn't let him explain his cause!_

_Forced to retreat away from the market, he ducked into one of the various alleyways of the village, sticking close to the darkness, but still trying to make a fast pace back to his planned destination—by now he had already thought he was going to be back there, in the safe place in which he desperately required. The setback of being seen by one of the village folk had set him way off his original time, but he wasn't about to let himself be delayed anymore._

_Creeping around the last few corners, he eventually came to an older looking structure, half of it caved in, and looking completely abandoned from any true family. The young boy approached it swiftly though without sound, not wanting to draw any attention to the location of his sanctuary. He ducked underneath part of the broken wood and slipped into the cover of the part of the house that still held a roof above it. His hand still kept a tight grip on the apple as he glanced around._

"_Sister!" he finally announced, his voice low but pronounced, but definitely lonely in this empty structure. When nobody responded to him, he persisted. "I, . . . I brought you something!"_

_A figure stirred in the unlit fireplace, covered by a singular scrap of cloth, and the boy seemed pleased that he got a reaction to his voice. He walked over to the 'blanket' and grasped the edge of the cloth to gaze underneath; the eyes of a young girl gazed back at him. She coughed into her hand before pulling the blanket off herself completely._

"_I was dreaming, . . ." she said, but before she could say anything else, he shoved the apple into her hands. Her eyes suddenly brightened at the sight of nourishment, and she greedily began to sink her teeth into the red fruit with delight. It wasn't until half of it was already gone that she stopped and noticed something. ". . . You don't have one."_

_She was referring to the apple. The boy closed his eyes and shook his head. "Don't worry. I already ate mine on the way back."_

_The girl accepted his lie without question and went back to eating._

"_Whoa, you shouldn't eat that so fast," he advised, putting a gentle hand to her wrist to prevent her from taking another bite. "Savor it, . . . and we wouldn't want you to start coughing again."_

_With some hesitation, she slowed down, and between bites spoke to him. "What was the market like today?"_

"_Crowded, but that's not the most exciting part of it," he reported. "While I was out on the roofs, I could see _them _in the center of the village."_

_She lifted her head to look at him, eyes wide with wonder. "Them?"_

"_The Lord's soldiers were out, a whole lot of them!" he exclaimed. "Upon their gigantic horses they paraded up and down the streets. I heard rumors about them too—apparently whenever they've gone out, children have been vanishing and never to be seen again."_

"_Brother," she looked at him with concern. "We're children."_

_He blinked—he hadn't exactly thought of that, but she was right. It had so long since he'd felt like a child, though, always having to go out and fetch things to feed himself and his sister. And the soldiers; even without those equine beasts they remained formidable. He hadn't even been next to one before, and he still knew that should he ever come into combat with one he was as good as dead. Though he wasn't about to let his sister know that, and instead threw on a false smile and a laugh._

"_You worry too much," he said, huddling next to her until they were touching. By now she had finished her apple and tossed the core aside, so he took her hand and shook it firmly. "I'm here to protect you, and I won't allow any soldier of any lord come and take my sister away from me."_

"_. . . Promise?"_

"_Promise."_

_Now she was smiling too, and he was glad that his words had eased her thoughts. Yet before they could speak anymore, she turned her head to one side to cough again, and the boy frowned in concern._

"_Your cough isn't getting any better," he stated as she finally caught her breath again, but she shook her head to disagree with him._

"_It is. I'm not coughing as often now," she tried to comfort him in return, and then quickly changed the subject. ". . . I was watching the stars last night. They're so bright and beautiful that sometimes I wish I could just go up there and catch one for myself. Except I don't think I could ever get close enough, . . ."_

"_They can't be _that _far away," the boy laughed, looking up at the ceiling, picturing the stars in his mind. "If you can see them, its impossible not to be able to catch one. I bet you just have to go up some place very, very high!"_

_He got to his feet as he kept talking, beginning to stand upon the tips of his toes. The boy extended one of his arms outwards, palm open. ". . . All you have to do is get to that place and stand as tall as you can, reaching out with all of your might, . . ."_

"_. . . and take it!" he clutched at the air and grabbed nothing, but he sat down next to her and showed her his empty hands. "I caught you a star. Make a wish."_

_She rested both of her hands on top of his upturned palms and closed her eyes, a heavy sigh passing over her lips as she considered it. Then she suddenly went rigid, and the boy assumed it was because she'd finally come to her decision, and a silence stretched between them for quite a time—but he was patient. She had such strong feelings, and it was no wonder that her dreams were long and thought out too. He was willing to wait until she was done._

_The girl finally let her hands fall from his palms, and she opened her eyes to look at him—to his surprise, her cheeks had trails of tears running down them, and he quickly placed a hand to her face to help rub them away. Curiosity sparked within him to know whatever caused her to ail, and he stared at her intently to find the answer. "What's wrong?"_

"_. . . What I wished for, . . . I know it won't come true," she sniffed, leaning against him. The boy blinked. What would make her think that? He ran his fingers through her hair in a soothing pet, holding her close as she silently begged to be held, curling his lip in wonder._

"_What did you wish for?" he asked._

"_I wished I could be as great as you are."_

"I'm n-not great," Ralph whispered.

"You're not great."

"She shouldn't, . . . h-have w-wished to be like m-me."

"She shouldn't have wished to be like you."

"It w-was a, . . . waste of a perfectly good, . . . wish."

"It _was_ a waste."

Ralph glared up at the ceiling—he was ignoring the voices now. He merely talked to talk to himself, because, even though he didn't want to admit it, he _did _hate being alone. In this, his final few moments, he really wanted to have the memories as his only company. If the entities chose to speak, he simply allowed them, and refused to respond back. The jester licked his dry lips and shut his eyes.

"Except, w-waste, . . . or not, it was w-what you , . . .wanted, . . ." he sighed. "B-being l-like, . . . me was, . . . good enough f-for you."

That was it. His final resolve. He may not have been perfect, may not have been able to save his sister—but everything prior was sufficient for her to be happy. Coming to terms with that, he found that, somehow, he could go without feeling like a complete failure. He laughed quietly to himself, and the air around Ralph shifted again as the entities were taken by surprise. They probably expected him to be crying, or screaming obscenities, boiling in rage until he died a most unhappy death.

They were wrong.

Lying on his back, Ralph took a few more shaky breaths, body trembling as the fight to live dimmed out of him. Already his skin felt as fragile as paper, any movement threatening to break him into pieces, but let a smile grace his lips. In his ears he swore he could hear something nearby moving towards him, though he didn't open his eyes to look—he wasn't able to, not even strong enough to peel back his eyelids for one final look at the world.

"Ralph?" the voices of the entities were gone, leaving another to take its place. They were most likely tired of him now—he was no longer reacting to their teasing, so they went their separate ways in order to track down their next victim. Only that one voice remained—one singular voice that sounded just like her, and he giggled hoarsely.

". . . Oh, w-what, . . . is it this time, J-jemima?" he asked, weakly throwing on an amused expression on his face. "The castle, . . . b-better be on f-fire, or else, . . . I'm not going to g-get up."

"No, the castle isn't on fire, but that's not why I'm here," he could imagine her laughter and smile, and he couldn't help but try and share in her joyful emotion. His twin approached the spot where he lay and he felt her watching him, and she went silent once more. She took him by the hand, knelt down beside him and whispered in his ear.

"I found that really high place, stood as tall as I could and, . . . I caught you a star too. Make a wish."

One final tear.

The figure of a man vanished in a poof of smoke, shattering into nothing but pieces of colorful paper, fluttering away over the dungeon floor. It scattered across the bloodied ground and overturned to mingle with the other pile of confetti still remaining from a while before. Her voice was gone now too, but to no one whispered these final words;

"_. . . I, . . . I w-wish to, . . . b-be with you."_

**Author's Note; **Wow. Mental note to never write stuff this late at night ever again. I don't even get it. 8D Anyway, thanks for your time, and hope you enjoyed. And if you'd be so kind as to leave a review, I'd very much appreciate your support.


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